


indigo

by unicornball



Series: Colors [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: DWRColorsChallenge, First Kiss, Human Castiel, M/M, Obligatory Shopping Fic, Sam Ships It, sorry Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornball/pseuds/unicornball
Summary: "Is it really necessary that I wear plaid now?" Castiel asks, taking the clothing. He feels the cotton, slightly stiff with newness but soft enough. A few washings and they might be as soft as Dean's.

  Sam nods. "Yeah, Cas, of course. You're a hunter now, we all wear plaid," he says with a grin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Today’s color:_  
>  Indigo  
> in·di·go (/ˈindəˌɡō/)  
> a deep midnight blue. It is a combination of deep blue and violet
> 
>  _So. There's a pic of Misha wearing a plaid flannel shirt (from an episode of_ Ringer _) and of course, SPN got a hold of it and gif'd it (yanno, as we do). ‘Hunters wear plaid’. And since the plaid is a nice dark blue with red, it fit today’s word and I was inspired._
> 
> _Enjoy._

Sam and Castiel leave the Bunker early, right after showers and a light breakfast after their morning jog. Castiel insists on leaving a note, even though Sam is 90% sure Dean will still be asleep when they get back. His brother sleeps in whenever possible these days, something he's relieved about even if he'll tease Dean on occasion. This is an 'off' day, so it's likely Dean was up late doing... whatever and won't be shuffling around in his robe (usually untied because his brother is a heathen) and slippers for coffee until at least noon.

Still. Sam waits patiently and doesn't say anything as Cas carefully pens a brief note on a Post-it and dutifully sticks it to Dean's door.

And then another, which is stuck on the coffee maker—just in case Dean misses the neon pink one on his bedroom door in his half asleep zombie-like shuffle out of his room.

Castiel tosses Sam the keys for his Continental since he doesn't know where they're going. It's a little odd sliding into the front passenger seat, but he doesn't mind; he's not nearly as obsessive about driving as Dean and Sam seems to enjoy the opportunity to be behind the wheel. Sam turns on the radio once they're on the road and Castiel bobs his head to the catchy music, Sam's fingers drumming the wheel to the beat as they both sing the parts of songs they know. They chat a little, but mostly they just enjoy the companionable silence and music as they drive.

Castiel recognizes the store as they turn into the parking lot. He's pleased Sam took his budget concerns to heart and had let his insistence of malls and department stores go. Besides, as far as he's concerned if Walmart is good enough for the Winchesters, he certainly can't complain. Sam parks with ease, finding a spot near the back row out of habit.

They nod to the gentleman at the door and head directly to the men's clothing section after a brief glance up at the signs hanging from the ceiling. It has an air of ceremony to it as Sam goes right to a very colorful rack, various shades and styles of long sleeved plaid shirts hanging from it.

Castiel heads to the pants, moving hangers around and puzzling over his size. He's fairly confident of his size, but since he's had a bit more time as a human, he's added a little weight to his vessel—his body. He'd like to believe Dean when he'd claimed it was mostly muscle, but he has his doubts. He looks up from the rack of dull, pleated khakis when Sam approaches, arms piled with denim and plaid.

"Is it really necessary that I wear plaid now?" he asks, taking the clothing. He feels the cotton, slightly stiff with newness but soft enough. A few washings and they might be as soft as Dean's.

He doesn't have any actual protests about the clothing, it's acceptable on many levels, but he's still trying to find his footing with both Winchesters. Being accepted in this way—it feels too good to refuse, to question, but he can't seem to help himself. It makes him feel warm and wanted to be welcomed so, he doesn't want to overstep.

Plus, he has no complaints about wearing Dean's clothing. He enjoys it but he hadn't been able to offer any real protests when Sam had insisted on his own wardrobe. He knows both Winchesters well enough he knew better than to mention his enjoyment of being in Dean's clothes, surrounded by the subtle scent of Dean regardless of how many times he'd washed and worn the clothes.

Sam nods. "Yeah, Cas, of course. You're a hunter now, we all wear plaid," he says with a grin. He claps Cas on the back and points him towards the fitting rooms. "I got a few different sizes, so try 'em all, okay?" He thinks he got the right sizes but Cas is smaller than him and Dean—just enough—that him wearing their old stuff isn't quite right.

Cas needs his own clothes.

Besides, he can do without the weird, pervy faces Dean makes at Cas in his flannels or old jeans when he thinks no one is looking. He's seen his brother mentally undressing poor Cas one too many times for his appetite and mental well-being. They still have to share a damn room on occasion.

Cas disappears into a fitting room, with a promise to let him know if he needs more sizes (or colors, whatever), he wanders off towards the Shoes section. He piles a few boxes in his arms, mostly boots but a few sneakers just in case Cas prefers them, and waits outside the fitting rooms.

He feels a bit like a creeper when the attendant stares at him, eyes slightly narrowed and wary. He cocks his head towards the door, "Waiting for my friend."

"Oh," she says, sitting up a little and her eyes open back to normal before going a little bit wider.

Sam looks away and rolls his eyes when the girl's eyes flick between him and the door, obviously coming to some conclusions. Some very _wrong_ conclusions, judging by the smile she gives him a moment later. He'd complain but it's not like he isn't used to it. At least it's not the pervy 'two guys together are so hot' face some make about him and his brother.

And it's only compounded when Cas stumbles out of the fitting room, shirt unbuttoned and pants dragging on the floor. The attendant makes something akin to heart eyes as she looks between them again, chin resting on her palm. He's surprised she doesn't throw in a goofy little sigh.

"Sam, these aren't the right size."

Sam huffs a laugh, smothering the sound with his hand when Cas gives him a kicked puppy look. "Yeah, no, I can see that. Uh, are those the smallest ones?" he asks, eyeing the clothes. He's tempted to go over and check the tags, but he's not a soccer mom and Cas isn't a four-year-old. He waits as Cas pats himself down and then looks behind him to the scattered piles of clothes.

"Yes," Castiel says, adjusting the denim waistband.

Sam nods. "Right. Okay, sorry, man. I guess I, uh, wasn't paying attention when I was grabbing." He gathers the extra clothes (yep, all of 'em are the bigger sizes he'd grabbed) and pats Cas' shoulder. "Sit tight, man. I'll get some smaller ones." He checks the puddle of denim at Cas' feet and figures he'd overestimated length by about three inches, too. Oops.

They get Cas’ size sorted out and head back to the bunker with about a month's worth of clothes. (As well as some socks and underwear when Sam stressed Cas needed his own of those as well. He’d left Cas in the underwear aisle on his own, leaving him alone to sort out if he wanted boxers or briefs. Some decisions a man made for himself.)

×Π×Π×

Castiel is pleasantly surprised to see Dean at the table, awake and fully dressed. And researching, apparently. He wonders if Dean found a new case.

“Hello, Dean," he greets, settling back against the credenza, tilting his head a little to see what Dean is reading.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, turning a page. He looks up properly and nearly chokes. He saw the note, so he knew Cas was going to be getting some new clothes but he didn't expect Cas in [jeans and an indigo flannel](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8q18zgpY71qcml1jo1_500.gif). He stares, gaze following the long line of Cas' legs in denim and body in indigo and red striped flannel as he takes Cas in.

Son of a bitch, he looks good in blue.

Castiel fidgets, discomforted by Dean's silent perusal. He's waiting for Dean to say something. Anything. The silence isn't like Dean and he's growing concerned.

Apparently, so is Sam. Castiel jumps, startled from his staring at a silent, staring Dean, when Sam clears his throat. Loudly. Loud enough Castiel almost offers him a lozenge.

"Dean."

Dean jumps like he's been prodded and he glares when Sam snickers. "What?" he snaps, annoyed he's been interrupted.

And, shit. Caught out, judging by Sam's stupid smirking face.

"Do you like Cas' new gear?" Sam asks, pinching the webbing of his hand between his fingers so he won't break down giggling. "He picked it himself," he offers, biting the inside of his cheek as well to keep the giggles in check when Dean blatantly ogles Cas again, eyes half-lidded and moving slow and lazy.

Gross but cute.

"Yeah," Dean finally coughs out, remembering Sam said... something. He's staring at Cas again, wondering when hairy forearms got him excited.

Well, it's Cas and there isn't much about the guy that doesn't excite him.

He glances up when Sam leaves the room, snickering like a jerk but taking Cas’ shopping bags as he goes. Cas is looking at him and he clears his throat, looking for something to say.

“Lookin’ good, buddy.” He nearly face-palms. Smooth Winchester. But Cas smiles, looking down at himself and he uses the moment to look too. Again. Because why not.

Castiel smooths a hand down his shirt, feeling oddly conscious of Dean's gaze. The shirt and jeans are comfortable and fit better but it'll take some getting used to. He looks up when Dean stands, a furrow pinching his brow when he takes in Dean's expression.

He feels himself flush at the open look of admiration and affection there. Dean is suddenly in his personal space, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. He holds his breath, hope blooming bright that he's interpreting Dean's look and body language correctly.

He leans in when Dean reaches out, tentative but determined, a broad palm resting warm and heavy on his waist.

.

Sam wanders back into the room, most of his attention on the book he has open in his hands. After dumping Cas’ new clothes in the wash, he figured he’d help Dean with the research he was doing earlier before he was distracted. From the corner of his eye he sees movement.

He has a bad feeling about this.

He’s wary, book lowered so he’s paying full attention. He doesn't really expect a threat, but he'd be stupid not to. Not with how their lives went.

He makes an embarrassing screech when he sees Dean and Cas. It’s little comfort they aren't completely naked, but there is still skin. Too much skin.

And movement.

Cas is snugged up between Dean's spread thighs, his face jammed in Dean's neck and making all sorts of wet moaning noises as his hips make very obvious movement.

Sam stumbles back two steps and covers his eyes, damning his life and that he's ever clapped these two assholes on the back and said ‘just go for it’. He realizes now they really should've worked out some house rules.

“What the fuck!”

He grimaces when the wet kissing noises and soft sounds of moans and hitched breathing don't stop. At all—the deviants.

“ _Guys_ , c’mon,” Sam says, whining a little, peeking through his fingers. He can see the back of Cas' head moving, hair all messy between Dean's fingers. “Not in here,” he begs.

That finally gets Cas to stop and lean away. Sam nearly breaths a sigh of relief until he sees Dean's face. Ew. He's seen his brother with that look on his face before, but not outside of a motel room he can easily run away from.

He's grateful one of them have a sense of decency when Cas primly buttons his shirt up. Dean doesn't bother and he's stuck seeing his anti possession tattoo and hint of nipple, the hedonist jerk.

“Apologies, Sam,” Castiel says sincerely. Dean's knees dig into his sides but he ignores it for now, giving Sam his attention. Sam does have a point. He hadn't planned on doing this here, but apparently it’s difficult to ignore Dean when he’s of a mind. He does regret it's happened here but not that it happened. Not after wanting for so long.

He slides his hands down Dean's sides to rest on the tops of his thighs. He lowers his voice, leaning in to tease the column of Dean's throat with soft kisses. He learned quickly it's something Dean really likes. He’s already become addicted to hearing the soft moans and the way Dean’s breath hitches when overwhelmed with pleasure. He’s looking forward to finding all the spots that makes Dean flush and tremble and make those noises again.

“Perhaps we should relocate to your room,” Castiel offers, gently cupping the side of Dean's neck, his thumb sliding along a stubbled jaw. He licks his lips, entranced by the lovely light pink of Dean's freckled cheeks.

He can't help wonder how much of Dean is covered in freckles. He remembers how many there were years ago when Dean's body was little else but sinew and muscle, stardust and the brilliance of his soul, but there's bound to be more and he'd like to compare.

Sam groans pathetically when Dean pouts— honest to Chuck pouts and gives Cas a coy look from under his lashes like some bodice ripper cover girl. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and prays for patience. Really, he's glad they got their heads outta their asses but he really didn't want front row seats for it.

Dean sighs and nods, sliding a hand over Cas’ back. It’s a good idea. He doesn't wanna deal with Sam's bitching, not now that they've finally gotten to this point. Cas’ smile has him smiling back reflexively, fingers itching to burrow in Cas’ hair again. Maybe dip down into the back of his jeans again, cop a feel of his awesome ass. It's new and awesome and he wants to do it again now that he can. But Sam is right there, bitchface in full effect and threatening to become permanent.

He hops off the table and grabs Cas by the belt loop, winking obnoxiously at a glaring Sam as he walks past and leads Cas to his room.

Dean calls “Call us when dinner’s ready, Sammy!” over his shoulder and slams the door behind them without waiting for an answer. He's pleasantly surprised when Cas’ hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back into the closed door.

He has about 2 seconds to care if Sam can hear them before Cas is all over him.


End file.
